


Gods or Not, A Debt Demands Repayment

by CaptainSaltyMuyFancy



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Canon Era, Crucifixion, Gore, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Past Torture, medical gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27670525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy/pseuds/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy
Summary: Ilithyia's body slave Thessela survives crucifixion and joins the rebels, but she grates with Spartacus when she is presented with the opportunity for revenge.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir, Naevia & Thessela, Nasir & Thessela, Thessela & Ilithyia
Kudos: 4





	Gods or Not, A Debt Demands Repayment

"Open fucking gate!" Spartacus's voice from the other side of the temple wall startled all of us in the courtyard. Leviticus and Litaviccus rushed to pry open the heavy door, through which Spartacus, Ortius, Tyronius, Fulco, Lydon, and Agron rushed, carrying a young woman I had never seen before on a makeshift stretcher of Roman capes.

"Medicus! Camila! Get cloth!" Tyronius yelled. They carried her up the steps and into the temple, disappearing almost as if they had not yet returned. Camila soon shooed all of them but Spartacus out of the temple and I made for Agron. A maroon crust of old blood covered his hands and spotted across his arms, shoulders, and chest.

"What happened?" said I, checking him over for the source of the blood but finding nothing. _It is not his, then. Thank the gods._

A nauseating quiet fell over the camp. Agron glared into nothingness while I stroked his jaw, which was locked in silence. None of the gladiators spoke at first, looking awkwardly between each other or down at the ground. I lowered my head and whispered, "Agron?"

"A moment," he choked out after several mute seconds, "I am poor company right now." He squeezed my hand and made for the rear of the courtyard, on the other side of the temple from where we stood.

"What fucking happened?" I snarled at the other gladiators.

"Unexpected roadblock in Capua forced us to go through market," said Ortius, "Glaber had been there earlier, making speeches about punishing slaves who sympathize with our cause. He used the girl to make example...upon fucking cross."

"Roman do that?" said Lugo, "Some say so back home, but Lugo think only tale."

"She is not long for this world, then?" said I.

"We found her..." said Lydon, "...in market square. Hanging from a wall like f-fucking carcass ready for butcher," he wiped a renegade tear from his eye and looked away, hands on his hips, "Spartacus thinks she may recover if given food, water, and treatment. But she was...up...there...more than a day. I doubt she will survive. Or even desire to."

"Un-fucking-likely," said Fulco softly. He tossed his belt and weapons to the side and sat down on the portico steps, compulsively running hands over shaved head. Somewhere nearby Tyronius could be heard retching.

"Nasir," Naevia called somberly from the temple, "Camila seeks your assistance."

In the medicus station, Camila hovered over and ran knobby fingers through the mousy brown hair of the girl brought back from Capua. Her long, sweat-greased locks had been loosened from their bun and now hung delicately over the edge of the cot. A few steps away, on a table often used by Medicus to hold tools and treatments during procedures, lay the now-broken collar of a body slave, indicated by its shine and its inscription. The wealthiest Romans adorned their favorite slaves in collars that often resembled bangled necklaces, not to hide that they were slaves, but to make the collar less distracting from their figures. The collar had been cut at two points by some kind of heated blade or tool, and even beneath the scarlet blotch of sunburn, the girl's neck bore a pale ring from where it had sat but moments ago; not unlike the ring that yet marred the necks of Naevia, Mira, Aria, myself, and all the other former house slaves at the temple. It would likely be there forever, I supposed--just like the memories.

"Nasir..." Camila began when I entered the room. Her usual bluster and her commanding tone were conspicuously absent, stoking the growing feeling of unease, "You have heard?"

"I have. How is she?" It was a stupid thing to ask. How could she be?

"She rests now. Exhaustion and herb will see her sleep for many hours," Camila wiped tear from cheek with the back of her hand, "She is alive, for better or worse..."

"For worse," said Medicus softly, absent his typical bite, "Nails drove through wrists and ankles. Sun burned flesh to crisp. Hanging position stretched lungs too thin for proper breath. Wind and sand scraped skin raw. Lack of food and water led body to eat itself to stay alive. After hanging in that market over three fucking days in such position, she should not yet live. She will never walk, touch, or breathe normally again."

"Will she live?"

"Only the gods know, at this point. It will only be for a time, even if so."

"For a time?"

"Ability to draw full breath will likely not recover. Life will be shortened greatly due to stress on the heart and lungs, even under best of circumstances. Most cannot survive such a punishment, nor would they desire it."

I approached the cot and studied its occupant, noting what was once soft, well-kept skin, healthy hair, and healthy form. She was important to a Roman not so long ago, judging by the care put into maintaining her.

"Who is she?"

"Thessela, body slave to the Praetor's wife. She used to come by the house of Batiatus often with her domina, before Spartacus's rebellion," Camila answered, "She was such a quiet girl; hardly ever broke words but with her domina and the other slave girl with her."

"She will need crutches for walking," Medicus cut in, "and we will need much more herb for poultice. I would have you set pairs of hands to purpose."

"It will be done," said I.

"And apply remaining poultice to lip, and worst of the bleeding cracks. I am for fresh air." Medicus departed with a tired clap on my shoulder as he passed by. 

Immediately I got to work with the poultice, using the spatula-like tool to guide the gray-green paste onto skin where directed by Medicus. Camila remained, but broke no words. The work was finished quickly and I handed off the bowl and spatula to Camila before she sent me away with orders to fetch Mira.

I found my target just as I left the medicus, as she spoke with Agron, Naevia, Gannicus, Ortius, and Aria.

"How is she?" Mira asked as I approached.

"Sleeping peacefully," I replied.

"Will she awaken?"

"Medicus says it is possible, though the idea brings little comfort."

"Life will be most painful if maintained, I suppose."

"Yet Spartacus would prolong her suffering to sooth his fucking guilt," Agron grumbled.

Gannicus snorted incredulously, "What would you have had him do?"

"Slit throat back in Capua and put her from fucking misery! But Spartacus detested the idea and insisted we-" Agron looked down at his still-blood-crusted hands, "we remove nails from hands and feet and drag the little thing back here for care."

"I would just as soon see her put to rest here while she sleeps," said Aria bitterly.

"We cannot take her life now that she has chance to reclaim it!" Mira scolded.

"Spoken by one who has never witnessed a crucifixion."

"I trust day's duties are all completed," Spartacus said tersely as he came up behind Mira from conference with Crixus, Lucius, and Oenomaus, "since they are not being tended to."

"We were in the midst of discussing them, gratitude," said I, "Mira, you are needed in the medicus." She nodded and made her way there. "Someone also needs to gather wood for making crutches, and herbs for poultice."

"I will see to the wood," said Ortius, grateful for the opportunity to exit.

"Bring Lydon with you, he needs distraction," said I.

"It will be done. Someone should also see to Tyronius; he is...unwell."

"I will see it done," I said, "Medicus is getting fresh air on portico, see him for size of wood required."

"Aria and I shall see to the herbs," said Naevia. The volunteers departed before further words could break. Myself, my lover, Gannicus, Mira, and Spartacus remained.

"Agron, I would break words," said Spartacus.

"I would not," my lover growled back. The Thracian's brows curved upwards in incredulity, as though on the cusp of a lecture.

"He is for the baths," I said to Spartacus, hugging around Agron's middle with one arm and patting his chest with the other, "He shall seek you out when ready." Ignoring whatever Spartacus's response had been, as well as Gannicus's dirty fucking chuckle, I pulled Agron toward the temple basement. We had converted a small square pool that had once been used for some kind of worship--the likes of which I did not want to think about very hard--into a passable bath. On the way I asked Rabanus to check on Tyronius and Lysandros to see if Medicus needed anything before returning to work. Agron did not speak the entire walk down to the bath, nor when we arrived. I sat next to him for a few moments on the edge of the pool before he finally broke words.

"You run our camp as a household, iron fist wrapped in soft skin," he said with the closest thing to a smile I had seen on him since he returned. He took my hand in his dirty ones, seemingly examining it. One of his thumbs idly massaged the center of my palm.

"Someone has to," I said with a grin. I leaned over and gave him peck on the shoulder. "I am glad you came back early."

"I should not have gone."

"Had you not, the girl would have died on that wretched cross," said I.

"I should not have gone."

"She has chance to start over now. If she refuses, she will die in dignity and comfort, surrounded by compassion. I understand why you feel this was the wrong decision, but do not think it entirely without benefit for her."

He nodded at the words but avoided my gaze, as he often did when he was overtaken with shame. For a man born in freedom, and having had it back for several months now, the ways of a slave were well-ingrained.

I dipped a rag in the pool and made to rinse the blood off of his body, but he pulled away. "You need not bathe me."

"Well someone must. If you will not take initiative, who will? Would you prefer I bid Crixus?"

He huffed through his nose and slid the rag from my hand to scrub both of his. "I only meant that you need not perform your old tasks for me..."

"A fact of which I am well fucking aware, and you need not take it upon yourself to remind me."

"Apologies," he almost whispered, "I did not mean to condescend."

"Then what _did_ you mean?"

"I do not know..." He scrubbed himself too hard but it did not seem the right time to point it out. "Apologies; I should not burden you with my sour mood and careless words."

I sighed and kneeled down between his legs, resting our foreheads together, "Seek me out when you are ready to break words on the events of your journey. Or on anything you desire. Or if you would prefer words be replaced by other sounds..." I brushed our noses together as I teased him, and my efforts were rewarded with a small but genuine smile.

I stood to leave but Agron's forehead remained on me. Taking a deep breath, he began speaking, "She was already up there when we arrived in Capua..."

I spent the rest of the day carefully avoiding the medicus, for my stomach was yet unsettled by Agron's account of the incident in Capua. When guilt finally drew me back, it was around sunset. Mira stood outside the medicus doorway, watching Camila change Thessela's bandages. 

"Camila said she used to frequent your old villa..." said I.

"With her domina. I never spoke with her but she seemed skilled and devoted; I cannot imagine why anyone would do something like this to her."

"To anyone..."

"Nasir," said Spartacus as he came toward us from the portico, "Have you seen Agron?"

"He is with Ortius and Lydon, collecting wood for crutches," I said shortly. After everything Agron told me about the ordeal with Thessela, I was not in the mood to tolerate the Thracian.

"I had hoped to speak with him when he was finished in the baths."

"Hm."

"...Will he be back soon?"

"He could be."

Mira and Spartacus exchanged amused glances as Spartacus pressed, "Perhaps you can help me in his absence..."

"Not likely."

"He told you nothing of the events in Capua?"

He told me how the girl screamed and sobbed, and begged him to leave her there in the ditch with the nails yet stuck in her bones and flesh; how she was so naturally frail that nails nearly severed appendages at wrists and ankles; how days-old wounds bled profusely as he had used a stolen clamp to pull the nails out one-by-one; how she put up a surprising amount of resistance that only led to more tearing of flesh; how the pain of their removal had made her heave stomach; how all they heard as they marched through forest and field was her labored, whistling attempts at breath; how she begged for death whenever she could draw enough breath to do so; how she called out for a far-away mother; how they had failed to reach Saticula and lost their chance to procure the proper weapons and materiel we needed, just so they could torture a little girl to satisfy Spartacus's fucking savior complex.

"He told me enough." I cleared my throat and turned to him before my thoughts overtook me. "Spartacus, recent days have been long for all of us. I understand you have many tasks you need to accomplish, but you can only demand so much of people in one day. I suggest you follow Agron, Tyronius, Lydon, Fulco, and Ortius's example and take the rest of the evening to decompress after harrowing journey. For everyone's wellbeing."

"You make strong point. I will reach out to him tomorrow. Though I ask that you remember we must place the needs of the cause before those of any individual, no matter how closely you hold them to heart."

"What decadently rich words to dribble from _your_ fucking maw."

"Apologies, I know not what you mean."

"Of course you don't," I took a deep breath and forced a smile, "Apologies, I speak without thought. You have my word that Agron will be available tomorrow at your earliest convenience."

Spartacus was clearly considering pressing the matter, but Camila cut him off as she emerged from the hall.

"Apologies for interrupting, but Thessela awakes."


End file.
